


Water that Wets the Sand

by thatdragonchic



Series: "Scott Saved Me" but it came with a price [1]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Gen, Stiles gets v wounded, Werewolf Stiles Stilinski, and Scott just loses it, blood mentions, the pack is fighting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-26
Updated: 2016-08-26
Packaged: 2018-08-11 02:13:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,462
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7871740
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thatdragonchic/pseuds/thatdragonchic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Scott tries to hold on but there’s nothing to hold onto, the sand is wet, and even if the thunder hasn’t stopped, he still feels like he’s losing Stiles. The wounds aren’t healing fast enough, Stiles isn’t waking up. He wonders if his heart is really slowing down or if it’s just his head. Is that Stiles heart or is it his own heart that’s screaming as he sobs weakly into the arms of his pale best friend who’s limp and cold and dying.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Water that Wets the Sand

**Author's Note:**

> This was just a thing that happened to happened to be honest. Leave your thoughts and comments- my first Sciles centric fic! Yay!

Scott hears it first, the tiny gasp of agony and pain, it was almost wheezing. He spins around and there is Stiles wide eyed and gaping, falling gracelessly to his knees, it’s almost too familiar to Scott as he lunges forward to catch his best friend, Stiles gripping the lapels of his jacket, Lydia’s running over but Scott can’t bother to take his attention of Stiles. He doesn’t hear anything but the fumbled stuttering. He was searching for the right things to say. He wanted his last words to be perfect, to be the right one- Scott’s not willing for them to be his last. He isn’t willing to give him up. Not yet, not ever. Not in a world where things were supposed to be perfect. 

“I love you,” Stiles starts. “You’re my best friend and I love you. You never meant to hurt me and I never meant to hurt you,” he whispers and Scott is tearing up.

“You’re talking like you’re dying.”

“Scott I’m not living.” They both smile sad smiles, though Stiles isn’t totally able, his breath his become labored, eyes hazy. Scott feels his own heart beat rise, he can’t lose Stiles, he can’t lose him. “Tell daddy I love him- T-tell Lydia-”

“I’m right here,” she says, kneeling down, looking to Scott with big eyes. They couldn’t lose him, he couldn’t lose his best friend. He grips his hand, trying to take his pain but it’s not working. What’s wrong with him, it’s not working? What little pain Stiles releases is when he shifts and he winces. Breathing in and Scott can’t bear the thought of a life without Stiles, in a way that he knew he could let Allison go and that one day he’d be okay- but Stiles was different. He can’t lose Stiles, not Stiles.

“Save your breath,” Scott pleads. “Help is coming, just save your breath,” he whispers, his shoulders shaking as he breaks into a sob, voice cracking slightly.

“It’s okay,” Stiles whispers. “It’s okay…” he tells him. “Scott don’t cry for me, I’m going to be okay,” he says, tears pooling in his own eyes. Scott can hear his heart slowing down and he shakes his head.

“No!” Scott sucks in a breath. “No… I can save you. This doesn’t have to happen. You and me are forever, you can’t leave.”

“You’re going to regret it, Scott. I know you… you-” he breathes in deeply and Scott can’t take it, can’t take watching his best friend die in his own arms the way his own first love did. He can’t take watching Stiles slowly slip from him, his eyes slowly lose their color and livelihood. Scott watches him try to collect his breath, he can hear Lydia talking but he’s not listening, she’s probably telling him to hang on but before Stiles could tell him no, Scott sinks his teeth into his best friend's arms, eyes a flaming red. His blood is prominent on his lips, staining his fangs and he’s adamant to pull away, to see if it’s caused the life to slip from his friends eyes but he can still hear his heart beating. 

Scott watches him, his head tilting to the side, eyes falling shut, his body goes slack and Scott is biting back a sob, pressing his ear to his chest, insisting that his ears hear his heartbeat like the thunder that shakes the house on the hottest summer day, when there’s too much humidity in the air. It’s shaking and rattling and Scott thinks that it’s the last he’ll ever hear of his best friend. The last he’ll ever see of him. In this moment he’s selfish. He doesn’t care if he’s depriving Lydia of seeing the love of her life, of talking to him. This is his best friend, this the robin to his batman, the batman to his robin. If he were awake he’d tell him the Yoda to his Han Solo or whatever the reference was (Scott desperately wishes now that he had held up his many promises to watch the movies with his best friend, to have remembered the comparison, it would have made Stiles so much more happy, to watch a movie together like normally teens do. But they never did. They never  _ got  _ to) and the lack of the memory, of sitting with Stiles as he rapidly explains every theory he’s ever read on the scenes, every detail that Scott might miss, of the smell of popcorn mixed with the ever constant cinnamon smell of the Stilinski household, of even maybe falling asleep and waking up a few hours later to Stiles still watching the marathon, maybe on his phone and having tucked him in with a blanket. Scott desperately wants it, he’s losing everything. And losing it fast. He’s losing it so fast, it’s slipping between his hands. Falling like water through his fingers. 

Scott tries to hold on but there’s nothing to hold onto, the sand is wet, and even if the thunder hasn’t stopped, he still feels like he’s losing Stiles. The wounds aren’t healing fast enough, Stiles isn’t waking up. He wonders if his heart is really slowing down or if it’s just his head. Is that Stiles heart or is it his own heart that’s screaming as he sobs weakly into the arms of his pale best friend who’s limp and cold and dying. He was  _ dying.  _ He doesn’t care for the sirens that arise. He has to be pried off by the Sheriff just so the man can hold his son, see him.

Scott is curled in on himself on the floor, holding his arms as he shakes. He’s not dead but he might be very soon. And he’s so  _ scared _ like he’s never been before. He loved Allison but he could handle losing her. He can’t handle losing Stiles, he can’t take it, he can’t take the idea of having him slither through his grasp with no effort. Stiles was  **invincible** and  **unbreakable.** He was Stiles. Nothing could break him. He lived through everything. He was  **indestructible** and a  **force of nature to be reckoned with** . He was… human and fragile. And god if he only had been there more often, only looked to help him more often, if he hadn’t let Stiles take that were-whatever-they-were he wouldn’t be dying. His scent is on his hands, on his body, his  _ blood  _ stains his skin and Scott clings to it because it might be all he has left. He’s lost and almost lost Stiles one too many times and now he may never see him again. 

The ambulance is taking him and he might never see him again. Scott doesn’t know what’s happening, he doesn’t register the Sheriff rubbing his shoulder. He’s not aware of everything that’s going on. He hears Sirens and he sees lights and he can see people walking about, talking on walkie talkies, can see an ambulance driving away but it’s not processing. It takes a moment to click that they took Stiles and he’s scrambling to go after them, to get him back. That’s his  _ b e s t friend,  _ no that’s his  _ brother.  _

“No!” He screams mercilessly at the top of his lungs, launching forward but the Sheriff catches him, arms tight and he’s struggling and trying to escape, but he’s weak, he’s unfocused. “No! I need him, they can’t take him from me! Please, I need him! That’s my brother! You can’t take  _ him! _ ” 

Scott resigns into the chest of the arms that’s holding him with no context as to who they were and to no registering of what they were saying as he sobbed. He could barely make out hte words  _ he’s okay.  _ The words  _ you saved him.  _ He’s clinging desperately to the hope that he has but now there felt like there was none. He felt as if darkness and a need of revenge was creeping up on him in a way it never had before- in a way that the nogitsune didn’t break out on him. This wasn’t a trickster spirit that hurt him, that hurt them all. This was Stiles, this was Stiles getting brutally wounded, this was somebody else's total doing- in a way that Stiles wasn’t left out scarred and hurt, in a way that there were no games to play or tricks to solve or demons to kill. Just a person who sunk their claws in too deep. 

The boy who ran with wolves wasn’t a runner anymore. He no longer was playing the game that he’d always played, now the bat was swinging at a new ball and Stiles was batting at a new base. The sand was wet with blood and everything was slipping from Scott’s fingers. 


End file.
